


Stuck at the Crossroads, Skull and Cross Bones

by ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Anxiety, Canon Typical Ignoring Feelings, Canon-typical Arum Ignoring Feelings, Canon-typical Damien Anxiety, Drowning, Dueling, Illness/Recovery, Kidnapping, Kissing! finally, Knives, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), More tags to be added, Multi, Pirates of the Caribbean AU, Pre-Slash, Proposals, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Shipwreck, Swordfights, Whump, battles, except monsters instead of pirates, mild panic attacks, minor depictions of violence, tentative friendship development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25979122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand/pseuds/ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand
Summary: Amaryllis of Exile stands at the bow of a ship, letting the tides and the wind pull her into a new life.
Relationships: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast), Sir Angelo & Rilla, Sir Marc & Sir Talfryn (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22





	1. Lost it at Shipwreck

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Proper Au please be gentle. This fic will only go through Curse of the Black Pearl! I'm going to do my best to post this on a weekly schedule (for Lizard Kissin' Tuesday) but I make no promises. 
> 
> Fic title from "Dust and Bones" by Night Terrors of 1927  
> Chapter title from "All Our Angels" by Eliza Rickman
> 
> *holds up Elizabeth, Will, and Norrington* i just think they're neat! :3c

Amaryllis of Exile stands at the bow of a ship, letting the tides and the wind pull her into a new life. She sings a tune under her breath, a song her parents taught her. It is all she has left of them now. As she stares out into the thick fog, she continues her song and pretends that there are not tears streaming down her cheeks. Life as she knew it is over, but there is nothing she can do about it now. 

A hand suddenly grabs her shoulder and she jumps, whipping around and swiping at her eyes, to see Sir Marc in his chair, Sir Talfryn standing behind him. “Now, Rilla, you know better than to be singing on the deck.”

She has been scolded for this many times, but as always, she rolls her eyes and starts to pull away from the absurd knight. 

Sir Marc’s tone is grave as he continues, “These waters are dangerous, and we must be quiet as we sail. We cannot risk alerting the monsters to our presence, to give the tricky things the element of surprise is to invite certain-“ 

“Sir Marc, I believe you’ve said enough,” a voice rings clear across the deck like a bell. 

Rilla only just manages to keep herself from rolling her eyes again as Sir Damien marches across the deck towards them. Marc turns the wheels of his chair sharply to face Damien, Talfryn scrambling back to prevent being run over. “I was just saying what we were all thinking, Sir! We’re in monster territory here!” 

Talfryn steps up next to his brother, “You know, Sir Damien, Marc does have a point. I think it best we all lay low as we travel through this part of the sea. It’s always best to ensure one has the advantage when dealing with monsters, and unless we deliberately engage with them _before_ they engage with us, they will have the advantage in these waters. This _is_ their territory, after all.” 

Rilla could swear Damien is trying not to stamp his foot in frustration. For all his superiority and airs, she’s noticed that he’s actually several years younger than Marc and Talfryn - much closer to her own age. He can’t be more than… sixteen? Maybe seventeen? A boy with something to prove to two men nearly a decade older who have been placed beneath him. “I will take it under advisement, Sir Talfryn,” Damien says through gritted teeth. He arches an eyebrow expectantly, and after a moment Talfryn seems to take the hint and wheels Marc away, to return to their duties. 

Rilla crosses her arms over her chest and levels a glare at Damien. “I think monsters are fascinating. My parents-“

_My parents wanted to study them. They wanted to learn about monsters._ She cuts herself off, realizing that defending her parents to this- this _knight_ will get her nowhere. It doesn’t matter now, anyway. Her _parents_ are gone. She’s never going to see them again. 

“Lady Rilla,” Damien says sharply, “monsters are nothing but _violent_ , evil creatures, intent on destroying everything we hold dear. I would slay any monster I came across without hesitation, and that would be far more than it _deserved_.” 

Rilla’s eyes widen at the vehemence in Damien’s words. Damien says the monsters are violent, evil, but these _words_ hold such hatred that she cannot wonder if they, too, are a kind of evil. Words can also be violence, and Damien’s words cut through the open air like the arrows he fires from his bow. 

As Damien finishes his sentence, the hulking man that is her new guardian - Sir Angelo, hardly older than Damien and _far_ too young to be taken seriously, Rilla has decided - steps forward. “Saints above, man! Lady Rilla should not hear such words. She is only a child, you know! I am concerned at what effect your words could have on such a delicate mind!” 

Damien scoffs at this, but turns and walks away with a stiff nod at Rilla. Rilla, for her part, whirls on Angelo. “Ok, one? You can’t be more than twenty, _Sir_ Angelo. Damien’s even younger. I can handle myself, thanks. Two, I do not have a ‘delicate mind’ and I am _not_ afraid of Sir Damien _or_ monsters.”

Sir Angelo blusters for a moment before crying out, “Well, Lady Rilla, that is perhaps even _more_ concerning!” 

Rilla rolls her eyes and turns away, leaning over the railing of the ship. The sound of the waves lapping against the side of the ship nearly drowns out Sir Angelo, who is still behind her doing his best to scold her into what he probably deems the “proper lady-like behavior” expected of someone in her position.

She sighs and looks down at the water below, and gasps as she sees a plank of wood bobbing on the water. There’s a boy clinging to it, his arms and chest draped over the plank. Rilla turns around and grabs Angelo, yelling, “Look, look!!! There’s a boy in the water!” 

Angelo leans over the side of the boat and gasps. “SAINTS ABOVE! MAN OVERBOARD everyone, there is a boy in the water! Someone lower a lifeboat to him immediately! We must save him!”

Marc, Talfryn, and Damien rush over to the side of the boat, several of the other crew members not far behind. Marc hooks a rope to his chair to hold it in place as Talfryn and Damien climb into the lifeboat that hangs from the side of the ship. Marc lowers them down into the water, and they pull the boy in. Angelo joins Marc and together they haul the lifeboat back up, Damien handing the unconscious boy to Angelo, who deposits him on the deck. 

As Damien climbs out of the lifeboat, he freezes. “Oh, Saints.”

All eyes turn to follow his gaze, and suddenly the wreckage is upon them. What used to be a huge ship is now nothing more than flaming planks of wood beginning to sink into the water. The thick fog they’ve been sailing through must have been created (at least partially) by the heat of the flames evaporating the ocean water, Rilla thinks suddenly. 

She turns to the boy, forgotten on the deck, and kneels quietly beside him. He’s still breathing, but only just. She can’t see any obvious injuries on him, but she has no idea how long he was in the frigid water. She leans over him and reaches out to gently brush his damp hair out of his face. 

The boy gasps to life as her fingers brush over his temple, water spewing from his mouth as he heaves air into his sea-soaked lungs. She does not flinch, but leans over him to rub circles into his back until his breathing steadies. She has always wanted to be a doctor - her parent’s ability not only to heal but to _soothe_ people is something that she always admired about them. They knew how to cure illnesses, but more than that they knew how to make people feel better. They eased people’s pain _and_ their anxieties. 

She tries to do the same for this boy now, as he flops back onto the deck, shivering and gasping for breath. “My name is Amaryllis of Exile. I’m going to take care of you.” 

The boy’s eyes lock on hers in a single moment of clarity, and she tries to smile reassuringly as he slips back into unconsciousness. Sir Angelo steps up behind her, and directs her and another crew member to take the boy below decks so he can be properly cared for. He beams as though he is indulging her as he says, “I shall leave the boy in your charge, Lady Rilla. He will be safe in your healing hands.”

Rilla nods dutifully, knowing that, while she is merely being given something to do so she’ll be out of the men’s way, she _will_ actually be able to help this boy. One of the men scoops up the boy and carries him off. She stands up to follow them, but notices a glint from the deck as her skirt lifts from where it was draped around her. There is a knife on the deck. They boy must’ve been holding it, or had it tucked away in his clothes. She bends to pick it up, examining it carefully. She has never seen anything like it. The blade is shaped like a lily petal, double-edged and _curved_ in such a delicate way that she almost believes it could have been an accident. It is a gleaming silver, but as she picks it up it _shimmers_ like water droplets turning light into a rainbow. She gasps, nearly dropping the knife, and looks after the boy as he is carried below decks. _Magic_ , she realizes, _which means-_

“You’re a- a monster?” She whispers under her breath. This knife is magic- _monster make,_ that much is clear. She tucks the knife carefully into a pocket in her skirt, away from prying eyes. This knife is now her secret to carry. She made this boy a promise. She is going to take care of him, and she _will not_ let anyone hurt him. She has seen what happens when citizens of the Second Citadel suspect there is a monster in their midst, and she is not going to let it happen again.


	2. What The Ocean Can Know of a Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being pulled from the ocean, a boy recovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for: water in lungs/drowning, emetophobia 
> 
> it takes so much effort to sit on finished chapters until Scheduled Posting Time. hope y'all enjoy! and please, if you can, drink some water. take a deep breath. take care of yourselves <3
> 
> chapter title from The Ocean by Dar Williams

The boy is drifting. He is colder than he has ever been, but he is also at peace. His eyes are closed, and he does not think he will open them again. The cold is quiet and safe, and he lets himself sink further into it. His mind is blissfully and comfortably empty, and somewhere there is a part of him that finds this strange, but he is so very tired, and he does not have the energy to question it now. 

As he drifts further and further in sleep, the cold is suddenly broken by the touch of a hand on his face. The warmth of it startles him, and he tries to gasp but finds he cannot breathe. His lungs burn and his eyes fly open, his body automatically flipping itself so he can cough up the water in his lungs. There is still warmth, hands touching him, and a soothing voice shushing and comforting. _Amaryllis of Exile_ , he hears. A girl. _Her name_ , he thinks. _Does he have a name? What is his name?_

He is so very tired. He collapses back onto the deck, and only barely registers moments later when he is suddenly engulfed in the warmth of strong arms picking him up and carrying him somewhere. He will fall into unconsciousness fully before he is deposited on a cot, stripped of his clothes, and wrapped in several thick blankets. He will not hear the girl arrive, feel her towel the water out of his hair, nor the warm cloth she drapes over his forehead. 

The boy wakes some hours later as the girl holds his hand, gently rubbing warmth back into his fingers. He pulls his hand sharply away, and she startles, but then scoots her chair a little closer to his bedside. “It’s alright. You’re going to be alright,” she says. She does not reach for him again, though. “What’s your name? Do you remember what happened?” 

The boy takes a breath. He does not try to speak. His throat feels raw and wrecked from the salt water, but it doesn’t matter. He does not remember anything. He shakes his head. The girl’s face is thoughtful, and her voice is soft as she murmurs, “Calla. Your name is Calla.”

Much later, men will arrive to tell him that they are on a ship that sails under the banner of Queen Mira of the Second Citadel. They are sailing now to an island just off the coast of the Citadel, where there is a colony being developed at the edge of the Northern Wilds, near the borders of the Western Wastes. The boy does not know why this knowledge fills him with such terror. 

He will spend most of their remaining voyage recovering, being cared for by the girl. He thinks she’s younger than him, but he does not remember his age so he cannot be sure. Her hands and voice are impossibly gentle, and as he regains his strength this becomes increasingly aggravating. He is not a _child_ , and he does not need to be cared for by one. She looks at him with such _pity_ , it is revolting.

Then, one day, when he is being particularly snappish, she surprises him by snapping back. She crosses her arms over her chest, tells him that if he doesn’t want her help then he can get up off his ass and walk to the kitchen galley himself and get his _own_ damn meals. She whips around and leaves, slamming the door behind her, and the boy - _Calla_ , he reminds himself, _you’re Calla_ \- is left gawking at the empty space where she stood a moment before. 

He snaps his teeth, and crosses his arms over his chest with a huff of annoyance. She told him he could take care of himself, and because he is _stubborn_ , he attempts to do exactly that. He doesn’t _need_ her help, and now he just has to prove it so she will _leave him alone_. 

He hauls himself out of the bed, but as he stands, his legs are so weak that he immediately collapses to the floor. His breath comes out in pants as he attempts to push himself back to standing. By the time he manages to stand again, he is nearly exhausted enough to collapse back into the bed and give up all together. He grits his teeth and straightens his spine. Using his hand to brace himself on the wall, he attempts to take a step forward, but he finds himself strangely unbalanced, and he totters over, falling to the floor again with a thud that reverberates through his hip. He takes a deep breath, a frustrated noise hissing through his teeth, and tries again.

She finds him a couple of hours later, passed out just inside the door to the cabin, where he had eventually collapsed from exhaustion. He does not apologize, and neither does she, but after that he does not fight her when she offers help, and she does not snap when he pushes himself too far. 

As he gets to know her he begins to realize, when she chides him gently for overworking himself, that she isn’t looking at him with pity. It is... he suspects that maybe she understands something of what it’s like to feel helpless. What it is to be trapped by circumstances beyond your control. She is generally quiet, but though she speaks softly, there is a fire and determination that burns behind her eyes. She is gentle, but her words brook no argument. He can see that the demure little girl she is before him is a mask, and it surprises him that he wants to find out what lies beneath it. 

One day, he asks her why she seems to be the only woman (let alone _girl_ ) on this ship. Why she is on a ship at _all_ , so young and, from what he can tell, completely alone. Something unreadable in her expression snaps shut before his eyes and she doesn’t answer, and he thinks that he’s treaded on a line he should not cross. He does not push further, but the next day, when she sits down beside his bed to help him eat, she tells him. 

She tells him about her life in the Second Citadel, about her parents who were healers, and how she wants to be a healer, too, someday, like they were. Something tightens in his chest at that, 'like they _were'_. He has no idea if he has parents, only that, if he does, they are gone now. He supposes it's possible he'll regain his memories, but for now, he is alone. And, so, it seems, is Amaryllis. She goes on to explain how they were doing research, to make medicine more accurate, how they believed magic could make medicine- make _treatments_ and cures more stable and accurate, and he laughs. He does not know why this notion is so ridiculous to him; he does not think he knows anything of magic. The grief that shutters briefly across her face at his sudden mockery quiets him, though, and he apologizes softly.

Her parents were discovered, and the fear and hatred of magic in those who govern the Citadel directed itself onto them full-force. Her parents were executed three days after their arrest, for suspicion of witchcraft and association with monstrosity. Amaryllis, being a child, was spared. Sentenced to a life of exile for a crime that neither she nor her parents committed. Amaryllis does not break down, she is not _sad_ , not in the way he expects. He watches silent tears drip into hands that have balled into fists in her lap, and realizes she is _angry_. Calla studies her, a painful surge of protectiveness that he does not understand making his stomach roll and twist. He reaches out, clumsily, and places a hand on Amaryllis’s shoulder. 

As the journey progresses, Amaryllis and Calla settle into a quiet kind of friendship. They bicker and argue constantly, but as Calla grows stronger and Amaryllis opens up to him, little by little, they begin to realize their interests are quite similar. Calla remembers nothing of his former life, but Amaryllis reads her books to him and he finds them _fascinating_. They debate and discuss the scientific knowledge within them, Calla often insisting on knowing information before realizing he has no idea _why_ he knows what he says is the truth. Amaryllis pushes back on him, however, when he does this, demanding he _explain_ his reasoning and countering with her own _ridiculous_ arguments. 

The men, usually Sir Damien or Sir Angelo, occasionally come into his room to- well- they would probably disagree with the term _interrogate_ , but he certainly is asked far more questions than he would be comfortable with, even if he _could_ remember the answers. Eventually it is decided that he will be apprenticed to a tradesman in the colony, so he can earn his room and board somewhere until he remembers enough of his past to be returned to where he belongs.

By the time they reach their destination, Calla is fully recovered. He and Amaryllis step off the ship together, and walk side by side into their new lives together. Calla does not remember anything of his past, but for now, with Amaryllis by his side, he thinks he can stand to find out what the future holds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile


	3. Deep Blue Waters Drown Me in Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rilla finds out some news, and bumps into an old friend. Calla's working through some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief mentions of alcoholism
> 
> it's been a rough few days (weeks. months. whatever) for me, so if it's been rough for you, too - i'm sorry. i love you. i hope you feel better soon. Happy Lizard Kissin'!
> 
> thanks to Arya @a-green-bean on tumblr for letting me ask questions about desi fashion! 
> 
> also me writing this is just a constant cycle of: oh god what is a plot is this a plot am i doing A Plot Yet? so please. bear with me. i am Trying.
> 
> chapter title from Ocean by Lauren Aquilina

Rilla wakes with a start, to the sound of a fist booming against her bedroom door. “Lady Rilla! Are you in there?” 

She rolls over, groaning, and sits up. _Of **course** , I’m in here. Where else would I **be**?_ “Yes, Angelo! I’m in here!” 

The door swings open, and Sir Angelo barges into her room, beaming. He strides over to her window and flings open her curtains, booming,“Why, Rilla! Still in bed at this hour on the day of such a momentous occasion?” 

Rilla rubs her eyes, shielding them from the harsh daylight, and tries not to groan again. “Momentous occasion?” 

Angelo blinks at her, his head tilting in confusion. “Why! Sir Damien’s promotion ceremony! Did he not tell you?” 

Rilla is fully awake now, and she stares back at Angelo, mirroring his expression. _Damien’s getting promoted? Why wouldn’t he say something?_ “No… No, he didn’t say anything…”

Angelo shakes his head, “That is most surprising, Lady Rilla! I cannot imagine why he would wish to keep such news from you.” 

“I don’t know either,” Rilla responds, kicking off her sheets and standing. “But I’m going to get ready and see if I can catch him before the ceremony. When does it start?”

“This afternoon, my Lady, just before sunset.”

“Right… I’ll have to hurry then. Thanks, Angelo,” she nods pointedly at the door, and he leaves her to get ready. 

Half an hour later she bounds down the stairs, nearly tripping over her cancan skirt. Sighing out a frustrated noise, she hitches it up to make it down the rest of the stairs. She must have pinned it too long in her rush. _Why did she have to try to rush the cancan skirt_ ** _now?_** _She could have just waited to pin it all properly after she talked to Damien when she had time._ As she makes it to the bottom of the stairs, she nearly collides with someone standing just around the corner. 

“Lady Amaryllis!” Calla barks, catching her by the shoulders, and as she regains her balance and steps back she feels him stiffen. 

“Saints, Rilla!” Angelo laughs. “You nearly knocked the poor boy over! Though I must say you look absolutely radiant! Sir Damien will certainly be pleased to see you dressed so beautifully for his promotion!” 

Rilla grins apologetically at Calla, but he merely lowers his gaze, and dips into a small bow. “My lady.”

She laughs properly then, but dips her head playfully back at him. “Haven’t seen you in _ages_ , y’know,” she says, nudging his shoulder, clearly teasing. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.” 

He clears his throat uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to Sir Angelo between them. “I… apologize, Lady Rilla. My apprenticeship keeps me quite occupied.” 

Sir Angelo cuts in, his voice confident and stern, “As it should! All young men should have a trade to occupy their time, if they are to impress a fair maiden! A man must either prove his worth to such a maiden in combat or in skill. I, myself, have chosen the path of the knight! Fair maidens need fear not, for Sir Angelo the Strong will always be there to rescue you!”

Rilla snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure you will be, big guy,” she crosses her arms over her chest and arches an eyebrow. “It would never occur to you to consider that a _‘fair maiden’_ might actually be capable of saving herself, would it?” 

This is not an uncommon turn for a conversation with Angelo. He was only eighteen when he got saddled with her, and he’s always done his best for her, but sometimes she gets frustrated with how much the ideals of the Citadel have taken root in him. He’s a _good man_ , probably the kindest she’s ever met, but he spent so long being trained into the mindset of what is expected of a knight that even after a decade she’s still trying to help him undo and rethink all he expects of himself and others. 

Angelo blinks. “I- well… Hm. I suppose… I suppose there is nothing to _stop_ a maiden from saving herself, but it is my _duty_ to help those in need, Lady Rilla! I am sworn to protect the citizens of the Second Citadel from the monsters who wish to harm them!” 

At this Rilla flinches, all sense of teasing gone in an instant. Her shoulders hunch inwards as she replies, “Just make sure you know who the real monsters are, Angelo. They’re not always who you expect.”

* * *

Calla furrows his brow, watching Amaryllis’s humor drain out of her face. Sir Angelo does not seem particularly bothered, the oversized oaf is probably too busy mulling over what she said to pay attention to _her._

Calla finds he is… often paying attention to Amaryllis. He thinks back to the quiet companionship they reached on the voyage nearly a decade ago, and something in him aches. She has always been… _kind_ to him. But soon after their arrival in the colony he was apprenticed to Absolon, the town’s blacksmith and, unfortunately, drunkard. Amaryllis was taken into Sir Angelo’s household, to continue her studies as an herbalist, and he has rarely been in contact since. A proper lady, a proper _doctor_ , does not have time for the apprentice of a blacksmith. Foolish as Angelo is, he is correct in this matter. Calla can offer Amaryllis nothing, and so his time is better suited to his trade.

He clears his throat, and it seems to snap Amaryllis out of her daze. “I have… just come to bring Sir Angelo’s order. He has commissioned a new bow for your- for Sir Damien.” 

He holds out the box, and removes the lid for them to examine. Sir Angelo reaches in and takes out the bow, inspecting it carefully. “Young Calla! Your master has absolutely outdone himself! A bow made of _metal_ rather than wood! An ingenious idea!!” 

Calla tries not to sigh at this. Of course they would assume this is Absolon’s work. He’s merely an apprentice after all. They don’t know that Absolon’s often too drunk to _stand_ , let alone work a forge. He straightens his spine. “The metal should be flexible enough, I’ve tested it myself. More durable than wood, and with practice it can attain the same level of accuracy.” 

Amaryllis takes the bow gingerly, then pulls the bow string experimentally. “Oh, Damien’s gonna _love_ this. You’ve really outdone yourself, Calla.” 

His gaze snaps to hers, and he sees the knowing look directed at him. He coughs quietly and ducks his head. “I- thank you, Lady Amaryllis. A craftsman is always happy to hear his work is appreciated.” 

“C’mon, Calla. How many times must I ask you to call me Rilla?” she asks, and Calla feels a vice grip in his chest as he bites back a frustrated growl at her impertinence. She has already breached the rules of interaction with him, and in front of Sir Angelo, no less. The bombastic _fool_ could have him hanged if he so much as _looks_ at Amaryllis in a way he deems improper. 

“At least once more, Amaryllis, as always,” he mutters as soon as he’s composed himself enough not to snap at her, before bowing stiffly and turning on his heel and leaving the foyer. 

On the safety of the front steps, Calla takes a moment to lean against a marble pillar. He grinds his teeth together as he breathes, choking down a frustrated growl. He works his jaw and slumps, pushing himself off the door and practically leaping down the marble steps.  _Ridiculous_ , he thinks to himself. _Ridiculous little hu-_ ** _lady_** _,_ he reminds himself. She is Lady Amaryllis of Exile, and he and his absurd heart would do _well_ to remember it _._ They are not equals, no matter how much _Amaryllis_ may _pretend_. He does not have that luxury.

He stands there for a moment, breathing and trying to quash back the pain roiling through his chest. He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, and bites back a snarl at his own foolishness. He _knows_ he is nothing to her. He knows she is _everything_ to Sir Damien. Sir Damien’s never liked him. Never trusted the boy who came from the depths of a monstrous ocean. What would he do if he knew-

Calla’s laugh is painfully bitter. Sir Damien will never know. No one _can_ _ever know_ how his traitorous heart thrums at the sight of Amaryllis. It’s ridiculous- this- this _feeling_ he cannot seem to shake. It makes him sick, he loathes the way seeing her smile makes him unable to speak. His lack of self control is pathetic and it makes his nose wrinkle to think of the fact that he wastes his time thinking about something he can never have. Lady Amaryllis has never been his to claim, and the bow he spent weeks designing should be all the proof of this he needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile on tumblr if you'd like to come yell with me!


	4. Keep the Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rilla has some questions for Damien. Damien... has one question for Rilla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With only a couple hours to spare, I still made it for LKT! Hope you're all doing well. I love you. 
> 
> chapter title from Head Above Water by Avril Lavigne

Sir Damien sits on a bed in the barracks, staring down into his lap where he fidgets with the woven gold band that was delivered to him this morning. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he deposits the gold band onto his bedside table, and then stands, beginning to pace the room. 

“Oh, Saint Damien, Your Tranquility this day. My Rilla… I love Lady Rilla, I am certain of this,” he closes his eyes, his mind conjuring an image of his beloved, and he cries, “Oh, Saint Damien, every time my gaze falls upon her it as though the sun has settled in my chest, and I think I might melt away in the heat of it. Her radiance, her patience, her _brilliance_ , Saint Damien, it is overwhelming. I am consumed by the fire of the emotions she stirs within me. I pray that you will give me the strength to properly convey these feelings to her, that she may… That she may understand. That she may know and feel the depth of feeling I have for her. That she accept and… Give me that which I believe I have desired for quite some time, now.”

His pace picks up, his bare feet scuffing against the worn rug that sits beside his bed. “I _know_ that I love her, Saint Damien, I would give my life for her. I know… I _know_ , she loves me. She has told me in every possible way, but… Does she love me enough? Does she want this as much as I do? Oh, Saints, what if I feel too much for her? What if she does not feel as I do? Does not feel the same- as though her heart is a fountain constantly overflowing with joy and endearment and… What if she refuses? What if she- oh, Saint Damien, what if she _laughs_ at me? For my folly, for my presumption for my- Surely she would not? But, oh Saint Damien, Your Tranquility, what if she is disappointed? I do not think I could stand to see such a look on her face. Disappointment or- or _disdain_ or… Rejection.” 

Damien’s feet freeze as panic grips him like a vice. He gasps for air for a moment, hands shaking as he feels the cool metal in his palm. His eyes well with tears as he struggles to breathe for a moment, “Oh… Rilla…” he whimpers. “Perhaps I should not ask. Perhaps I should wait. After all, she is devoted to me. Why do I need proof of this beyond what she has already shown me? But, then, if she loves me as much as I believe her to then surely… Surely she will say yes? Oh, Saint, what should I do? Your Tranquility, Saint Damien, guide me to the path you have laid. Guide me to what you desire for me, oh Saint. I will follow you willingly.” 

Steadying himself, Damien closes his eyes and breathes. He trusts Saint Damien to guide him, and he knows that he will do the right thing. He listens for a moment, hoping for a sign from his Saint that will show him the correct course. As he breathes and listens, however, he realizes it is not the voice of Saint Damien that comes to the forefront of his mind. It is Rilla’s, calming and quiet as it always is when he has stumbled into a panic. _Breathe, Damien, you’re going to be ok. You’re working yourself up, and you need to breathe. It’s going to be fine. I love you. I’m here, and I love you._

A tear falls down Damien’s cheek, and he breathes deeper. She loves him. Wherever this day goes, he knows that Rilla loves him, and that is not going to change. Whatever her answer, that is all that matters. 

He turns to face the large mirror that stands in the corner of his room. Taking a few quiet breaths to calm himself, he attempts to flatten out the fabric of his sherwani, studying the interweaving pattern of shimmering gold over vibrant violet fabric. He tilts his chin up, appraising his reflection. This is the day he has waited for his whole life. The day his queen will show him her favor, the day he will finally prove himself worthy of his flower. After today, he will not only be a knight, he will be their commander. He will stand above them all, second to none in the colony, not even his rival Sir Angelo can compete with him now.

Damien carefully puts on the juttis he had commissioned for this occasion - an exquisite emerald to match his violet and gold sherwani. He looks down at his hands, taking a moment to twist the only piece of jewelry he will wear today - a simple ring of three gold bands braided together as a symbol of his devotion to his Saint Damien, his Queen, and his flower, Lady Rilla. The three most important figures in his life, interwoven together in him. He retrieves the matching gold band from his bedside table, and turns toward the door. It is time to go find his flower. 

* * *

Rilla raises a fist to knock on the door of Damien’s apartment in the barracks, but before she makes contact the door swings open, revealing Damien as he attempts to exit the room. When he sees her, he squawks, stumbling backwards and disappearing behind the door, and there is a metallic thunk as something hits the hardwood floors. 

Furrowing her brow, Rilla pushes the door open, and she finds Damien crouched on his hands and knees, reaching for whatever fell - which has apparently rolled under his cot. “Uh… Damien? Are you ok?” 

Damien whirls around, and Rilla winces at the sound of his back thwacking against the side of his cot as he spins to face her. “Rilla!! Of course I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be fine? Everything is perfectly fine! I can’t imagine what you’re on about um,” Damien swallows visibly, and she sees him tuck something into a pocket at his hip. “What… What are you doing here?” 

“I came to see _you_ , Damien,” Rilla bends to help him stand, appraising his formal wear as she does. Once he’s upright, she crosses her arms over “You’re… Were you going to tell me what’s going on today? Or were you just going to let me go about my business completely ignorant of the fact that you’re getting promoted today?”

Damien freezes, alert as a deer hearing the snap of a twig underfoot. “I- no of course not, Rilla, I- as a matter of fact, I, was on my way to come see you, to ask you… To ask you to accompany me to the ceremony. I would… Greatly appreciate your presence, my love, I- I did not mean to make it seem as though I was endeavoring to exclude you.” 

Rilla smiles softly as Damien steps towards her, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “It’s alright, Damien, I just- this is… Kind of a big deal for you, right? And I’m just… confused about why you wouldn’t tell me about it sooner?” 

She sees something like nervousness in his expression, then, something almost… Like anticipation? He takes a breath and then takes her hands in his own, bringing them up to press gentle kisses to her knuckles. “Oh, my Rilla… I wanted it to be a surprise because… Well, that is not the _only_ surprise I had in mind for today.” 

He smiles at her, and the assured warmth she sees in it makes her feel as though her feet have been swept out from under her. Damien is- has _always_ been beautiful to her. His hazel eyes are kind, and she could spend hours following the laugh lines that crease his face when he grins. His unruly curls frame his face and droop into his eyes when he ducks his head to laugh. Now, with this look in his eyes, it is all she can do not to bridge the gap between them and kiss him, but she sees the words dancing on the edge of his tongue, and she does not wish to scare them away. 

“My flower- Rilla, I must speak my heart. I love you. I love you so much I think my heart will burst with the feeling, I- surely you must know how I feel about you,” he squeezes her hands, and it is only then that she feels the cool of something metal against the tip of her fingers. She glances down and sees the gold band around his finger, and freezes, a quiet gasp puffing past her lips. 

Damien doesn’t wear jewelry, the duty of a knight does not permit it. Damien does not _own_ jewelry- or at least. He didn’t. There is only one blacksmith in the colony, and Rilla blinks as she thinks back to that morning, how Calla had said, _He has commissioned a new bow for your- for Sir Damien_. _Calla had known_ she thinks, had almost called him her- her fiancé. Calla had _known_ what Damien planned to ask her today, had forged the ring that sits upon Damien’s finger, forged the ring that Damien is offering to her now. 

Damien, in his fervor, did not seem to notice Rilla’s sudden realization, and has reached into his pocked to pull out the matching ring. He stands before her now, eyes searching her own imploringly as he asks her to marry him. “Damien,” she starts, her throat suspiciously tight. 

She sees a flicker in the earnestness in his face, then, sees a flash of the very real fear he’s trying to hide. Rilla hates seeing that fear, knowing that she’s the one who put it there. She reaches up to take his face in her hands, and kisses him. It’s soft, sweet, and the familiarity of the feeling of his lips against hers is something she never wants to fade. As she pulls away she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too, Damien. And _of course_ I want to marry you. I _will_ marry you.”

Damien startles, and as he pulls away from her he _beams_ and it’s almost like staring into the sun for a moment with the joy that radiates from him. Rilla takes a breath, “I am saying yes, and I want you to know that _with every certainty_ , ok? But… What made you decide to do this now? Why the rush? I love you, you _know_ I do, but… What’s wrong with the way things are now?”

As she speaks, Damien pulls away from her, and he bites his lip. “Rilla, I- I want to marry you because I love you, and now that I’ll be the leader of the colony I- I can give you the life you _deserve_ , Rilla.”

Rilla tilts her head, frowning. This is… What she was afraid of. “Damien… You know that you never had to prove yourself to me, right? You never had to make me feel like you were _worthy_ of my love. I love you, whether or not you deserve me. I want you to propose to me when you _want_ to, not when you feel like you’ve earned it, like you’ve earned _me_. It doesn’t _matter_ what your title is, how much money you have, what your reputation is. Obviously, I’m really proud of you for working so hard, and you have earned this position, but I don’t want you to think this is _why_ I love you. This isn’t why I want to marry you, ok?” 

Damien’s eyes shine with tears as he breathes, “Oh, Rilla, I-“ 

She silences him with a kiss. “I’ll marry you, but I don’t want to rush into this. I want it to be the right moment for _us_ , not the right moment by whatever standards are set by the Citadel. I want to marry you on my own terms, Damien.” 

His smile is a little rueful as he nods. “I understand, my love. We do not have to be married this moment.”

Rilla laughs, “I certainly hope not. As it is, I think we’re just barely going to make it to the promotion ceremony on time, if you help me repin this stupid fancy cancan skirt.” 


	5. Sinking Ship I'll Never Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damien has a chance to prove himself in his new position sooner than he expects, Rilla walks into the danger, and Arum tries to protect what's his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: battles, depictions of violence and injury (not super graphic), brief moment of child endangerment (child is unharmed and safe at the end)
> 
> Happy Lizard Kissin'! I promise there will be lizard kissin in this eventually. Someday.
> 
> Chapter title from Castaway by 5 Seconds of Summer

Damien kneels before his Queen, lowering his eyes respectfully as she rises from her throne - Queen Mira is not often in the colony, but there are permanent accommodations in place for when she _does_ come, for special occasions such as these. Mira turns to Sir Angelo, who stands to her right, holding Damien’s beautiful new bow. Damien had gasped when he’d seen it, placed in a box over delicate velvet fabric. It was stunning, the sleek metal as clear as surface of the glassy river that flows through the colony. He would have to make a point to visit Sir Absolon, to pay his respects and convey the depth of gratitude that he feels, being the recipient of such a stunning masterpiece.

Now, Queen Mira presents him with the bow, placing it on his upturned palms. He looks up as he curls his fingers around the cool metal, raising his gaze to meet his Queen’s eye. There is a gentle glimmer in her gaze as she speaks, “Sir Damien, Knight of the Second Citadel, on this day you are rewarded for your stalwart service to your Queen. On this day, you rise above your station, and become a Knight of the Crown. In your efforts to protect our Citadel, you act in my stead and speak in my place. Your word is to be taken as mine. All who look upon you will know you are the Queen’s Knight, the sword and scepter I wield where I cannot go. I trust you to serve me well, Sir Damien.”

Damien takes a steadying breath, ducking his head in a bow as he blinks back the tears that have welled in his eyes. Queen Mira has placed her trust in _him_ , it is the highest honor he could ever receive. When Mira steps back and returns to her throne, Damien stands. He turns his back to his Queen, standing straight and tall as he faces those who have come to see their Queen promote a knight, come to see Damien, their knew leader take his own kind of throne. He catches Rilla’s gaze in the crowd, and the pride he can see in her expression fills him with love and joy. Damien breathes, and reaches behind him for the quiver that sits against his back. He retrieves an arrow and knocks it against his new bow, feeling the metal flex under his practiced hands. He takes aim at the target they have prepared, which sits at the end of two rows of his fellow knights, all standing in the path of his arrow, all trusting him with their lives. It is nothing more than a show of faith for the crowd, but it is his chance to prove himself worthy of the position he has been awarded. 

Sir Damien has prepared his whole life for this moment. So, inhaling steady and strong, the edge of his mouth quirks up in a smile, and he fires. 

* * *

Rilla is still smiling that night as she undresses, unpinning the elaborate braids and gold jewelry woven into her hair. _I’m… I’m engaged,_ she thinks, and giggles, feeling a little giddy. She loves Damien, she wishes he was _here_ , to spend the night with her, but he’s on duty for two more days. She undresses down to her petticoat and undershirt, and washes her face in the basin beside her vanity. As she begins to crawl into bed, she is startled by what sounds like cannon fire. 

Her head snaps to her balcony, _Did they organize fireworks for Damien’s promotion?_

She opens the balcony doors, and steps out, leaning over the railing to squint down into the darkness. The quiet colony comes alight as a flash goes off over the ocean water. There’s a ship off the coast, and it’s firing on the colony. Rilla whirls and bolts through the house towards Angelo’s rooms. She needs to find him, and they need to find Damien. 

Angelo meets her in the hallway halfway between their rooms. He is already dressed in full armor, and he carries a halberd, his great sword strapped to his waist. “Lady Rilla,” he booms, all joviality gone from his voice as he orders, “You must return to your room! It is not safe for you to be out, and I must go into the Citadel to protect the people. You may not follow me, you _must_ return to your room where you will be safest!” 

Rilla snaps, “Angelo, I can _help_ , I’m a doctor, remember? I need to be where people are going to be hurt, so I can try to save their lives.”

Angelo barely spares her a glance as he charges past her towards the main foyer. “You will do as you see fit then, My Lady, but know that beyond these walls my duty is to my Citadel. I cannot protect you when there are more lives at stake.” 

This makes Rilla hesitate for a moment, the gravity in Angelo’s words surprising her. But he’s right, and she _doesn’t_ expect him to protect her. She can take care of herself. She nods at him, and then bolts downstairs after him, running to her lab to grab her medical kit. 

Five minutes later she has a full bag of medical supplies slung over her shoulder, and she begins to make her way outside. As she passes by an innocuous desk in the hallway, however, she hesitates. She pulls open one of the drawers and opens a small compartment at the bottom. Her hand finds the cool, dusty handle of a knife she has not thought about in years. She wipes the dust off on her skirt, and tucks the lily-curved blade into her belt. She might as well have _something_ to defend herself, even if she’s not confident in her ability to use it. And if anyone finds her using it, she can always claim to have found it on the body of a dead monster. No one needs to know she’s been hiding a monster’s knife in a desk drawer for over a decade. No one needs to know that it once belonged to the boy who now makes the very weapons that they will use to kill their monsters. 

Rilla runs out into the street, and realizes most of the action is down in the town square, on the main road where all the shops are located. She makes her way cautiously into the square, trying to stay hidden as much as she can so she can watch from a distance and seek out people who need medical attention. She sees Calla outside his smithy, wielding a rapier against some sort of bear, and he looks unharmed. Her eyes skim over the crowds, her focus drawn by areas where there seems to be particularly intense combat. Thankfully, it seems like the knights are able to hold their own against the monsters, and there don’t appear to be any serious injuries that need desperate attention. 

She continues to watch, moving through the square up towards the beach, when suddenly two huge figures round the corner in front of her, blocking her path. One of them snorts, “Oh ho ho! Trotter, what’s this?” 

Rilla staggers back, trying to put some distance between her and the enormous pigs who have just spotted her. The other pig snorts in something like a laugh, “Looks like a _human_ , Porcus, looks like a yummy little _snack_.” 

Rilla draws the knife at from her belt, brandishing it at the pigs. “Stay. Back.” 

The pigs burst into laughter, but as they settle down one of them - Porcus, she thinks - gasps, smacking the other on the arm to get his attention. “Trotter. Trotter do you see what I see, dude?” 

Trotter stops laughing and looks Rilla over, “Uhhhhh, no bro. What am I supposed to see here besides dinner?” 

Porcus scoffs and swats Trotter over the head. “The _knife_ , dude, look at the _knife!”_

Rilla sees the moment Trotter registers the knife in her hand, his eyes flare wide and he gasps in what she thinks might be horror. At least, until he begins to laugh again. “Oh, we’ve been looking for _you_ for a _long time_. You’re _just_ what we need, heheheh. Helicoid’s going to be _real_ happy with us, Porcus. Shame, though, you look like you’d be _delicious.”_

Rilla’s nose wrinkles in disgust as the pigs lick their lips and take a step towards her. Porcus reaches for her, and she lunges with the knife, burying it in his meaty abdomen. The pig lets out a hideous squeal as he rears back, stumbling backwards into Trotter, who only just manages to catch him. “Heyyyy, she _stabbed me_ , Trotter!” 

Trotter _snarls_ , “You’re gonna pay for that, you know.” 

She gasps as Porcus pulls the knife from his side, and the wound closes itself. The pig lunges for her and catches her by the wrist, swinging the knife at her head, and everything goes black. 

* * *

Calla wakes to the sounds of cannon fire, sending him bolting upright in bed and towards the many blades he keeps in stock in the smithy. He tucks four knives into his belt, and grabs a longer rapier to use before running out of the smithy and into the chaos of the colony streets. There are monsters _everywhere_ , looting and pillaging the shops on the main row of the town. He can’t let them get into the smithy - can’t let them get access to his weapons. He charges the first one that comes close, a large basilisk-like creature that has coiled its tail around the waist of a small child who is screaming for its mother. 

He slices into the side of the basilisk, cutting just enough to distract it into releasing its grip on the child. Once he’s drawn it a few feet away, he swings his rapier, sidestepping sharpened fangs and slicing through the back of the creature’s neck. Its head snaps forward, hanging awkwardly for a moment before it collapses in a heap at his feet. Calla turns around to find the child, but a woman has scooped it up and is sprinting off in the direction of whatever safety she can find. He decides to stay as close to the smithy as he can, focusing mainly on keeping the monsters out, and mitigating what damage he can on the street until the knights arrive. 

By the time the other knights _do_ arrive, he has felled two more monsters, one a kind of bear creature, the other some kind of bird-cat hybrid. Once the other knights retaken most of the street, Calla returns to the doorstep of the smithy, guarding it from the invaders and handing out a few more weapons when able-bodied citizens approach and offer to help. Sooner than he would have expected, the monsters seem to be moving in a retreat. He does not cheer with the other citizens, who jeer at the monsters as they slink back to the ocean, and back to their ship. He simply watches, frowning at their sudden change of heart. 

It isn’t until most of the monsters have gone that he notices two pigs carrying a body as they climb into a dinghy. He shouts for the other knights who still remain on the street and begins sprinting towards the beach. As he gets closer, he sees the face of the body they’re carrying. _“Amaryllis!”_ he cries, attempting to pick up his pace but stumbling in the loose and unstable sand. 

The dinghy pushes off as the other knights catch up to him, heaving and gasping for air. Calla turns to them, ready to snap at them for the useless _fools_ they are, letting these monsters escape with one of their own, but freezes when he sees the knight beside him. Sir Damien stares horrified after the ship, knuckles white around the bow still clutched in his hands. “Rilla,” he whispers. 

Calla’s shoulders slump. “They’re gone,” he breathes, “she’s gone.”

He hears Damien suck in a breath through his teeth, an echo of the fear and anger Calla feels gripping his own heart, and the two of them just stand there for a moment, watching the ship sail away into the night, as they are frozen in place by the knowledge of their own failure. 


	6. Somehow We Must Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calla and Damien are left standing on a beach. Damien makes a plan, but Calla isn't happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi folks. this chapter is going up with No Editing because I have a migraine and feel like death. apologies. I'll go back and fix shit tomorrow if needed. there was also supposed to be a second part to this chapter, but it's long enough that I'm leaving it like this, because again, migraine. happy lizzer kiss. take care of yourselves.
> 
> chapter title from The Wave by miner

Calla is _seething_. After Amaryllis was captured, and they ran to the beach, he had expected _Sir Damien_ to fly into a flurry of panic. Call for a boat, row after her _himself_ if that’s what it took to get back his fiancée- he knows she accepted the proposal, sees it as plainly as the delicate woven band he sees around Damien’s finger. Damien, however, after catching his breath, set his jaw and muttered almost under his breath, “I will organize a mission in the morning, determine where they likely went, and go after her.” 

Calla whipped his head around, staring incredulous at the knight. “What do you _mean_ in the morning?” 

Damien blinks, startled, like he forgot Calla was beside him. Registering him, the knight’s eyes narrow. Sir Damien has always been _deeply_ suspicious of the boy Amaryllis spotted floating, half-drowned, on a monster-infested ocean. This cold suspicion slowly grew into something more like _true_ animosity as they continued to cross paths into adulthood. Damien _idolizes_ Absolon, the retired knight who became a blacksmith in the colony. He never believed Calla worthy of the position he had been given, apprenticed under such a _legendary_ knight. _Jealous,_ more likely, Calla always thought. 

Though why he is meant to feel _lucky_ Calla never understood. He is, _of course_ , grateful that Amaryllis pulled him from the ocean, saved his life. But Absolon? Absolon has been nothing but a _nuisance_. Calla has learned _nothing_ from the man, has practically taught _himself_ the trade. Not that anyone would believe him, if he came forward. He’s trapped in the shadow of a man who drinks so much he cannot even stand long enough for the sun to make one. 

Damien quietly orders the other two knights who followed him down to the beach to return to their duties, help restore order to the town. He then turns back to Calla and, attempting to look down his nose, despite being nearly a head shorter, says, “I am the _leader_ of this colony and you will show me the proper _respect_ when you speak to me, cur,” he spits. “And as the leader of this colony, I have a duty to it over any _personal_ endeavors upon which I may intend to embark. A _knight_ does not have the luxury of being self-serving. Not that I would expect a blacksmith like _you_ to understand.” 

Calla growls out a frustrated noise, “But if you leave _now_ you might _catch them_. If you let them get ahead you’ll never catch up. Those monsters will vanish into the mist and you will never see your fiancée again, little knight.” 

He can see the way Damien’s breath hitches at his words, and Calla feels a hot anger burn its way through him. This knight has _everything_ , and he is just going to _let it go_. He would choose his- his pathetic _loyalty_ to the Citadel over the love of Amaryllis. Over Amaryllis _herself_. Calla knows, somewhere, deep in him, that if the monsters did not kill Amaryllis on sight, she is likely to suffer a _far_ worse fate. They _took_ her, which means they think she will be _useful_ to them. For what, he does not know, but he knows that Amaryllis is in danger, and right now that is all that matters.

Calla watches Damien process his words, watches fear and pain carefully retreating from his features, replaced with a cool mask of steel. “There are people here who need me. I must attend _their_ needs before my own. We can prepare more thoroughly in the morning, when order has been restored to the colony.”

Before he can respond Sir Damien begins to turn away and walk back up the beach. The dejected slump to Damien’s shoulders as he swings his bow over his shoulder makes Calla sick. He has no right to be _disappointed_ when _he is making this choice_. Calla cannot abide such cowardice, such… A _pathetic_ display. He lunges to catch up to Damien, and arcs his sword arm up, bringing the blade to Damien’s throat. “That is _not_ a good enough _answer_ , knight. This is not just _your needs_. You say that you have a duty to the citizens of the Citadel. Is Amaryllis not one of those you have sworn to protect? Does she not _need you?_ ”

Sir Damien flinches and swallows against the blade at his throat, but his voice is calm as he addresses Calla. “You are not a knight. You are not a swordsman. You are a _blacksmith_. Put that blade away, you should not play with things you do not know how to handle.” 

Calla snarls, “Oh, I don’t think it’s all that difficult, I do know how a _knife_ works, after all. How could a sword be any different? I just hold the sharp end to your _delicate_ little throat and _push-“_ as he says this, he applies the barest pressure to the rapier still held to Damien’s throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make sweat bead across the knight’s forehead. He deliberately relaxes as Damien tenses, and smirks, “at any rate, I think you would be _quite surprised_ with how I handle a blade.” 

Damien scoffs, and suddenly, there is a blade clashing with his own, as Damien ducks away from the blade, swinging the sword he must’ve had strapped at his side and shoving Calla off of him. He straightens himself as Calla stumbles, and says, “I am finished with you. I have duties to attend to, and you will not detain me any longer.” 

Calla lunges again, and Damien’s sword meets his own in the air between them. “I am _not_ finished with you,” he growls. 

Calla can see the moment the veneer of calm patience drops, and suddenly Damien’s blade his swinging for him in a flurry of blows that Calla only just manages to parry. They spin around each other for a moment, and Calla cannot quite swallow back the swell of pride he feels at being able to hold his own against this knight. His pride must be evident on his face because as Damien blocks Calla’s swing at his side, he scoffs again. “You know what you’re doing, I’ll give you that. But-“ he lunges, and _grabs_ at Calla’s sword arm, spinning so his back is nearly to Calla’s chest as he uses the butt of his own blade to knock Calla’s out of his hand and it thunks into the soft sand. “You are _not_ a knight, no matter how much you may _pretend_.”

As Damien turns away again, Calla grabs him by the shoulder. “ _No_. I will not allow you to- to just _leave_ like she means _nothing_.” 

Damien whirls on him, and his voice is sharp as the blade Calla still clutches in his hand as he snaps. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man here who cares for Rilla.”

At this, Calla balks, the cold knowing in Damien’s eyes cutting to the heart of him in the space of a breath. Damien wrenches his shoulder out of Calla’s grasp, before shaking his head and sighing,“I will save Rilla. This is not a _question_. But I _must_ attend to my other duties first, and there is a much higher chance of getting her _back_ if I can _bring my knights_ with me. I cannot face down a world of monsters on my own, no matter how much I- I may _want_ to. You may return to _your own_ duties, as I’m sure Sir Absolon is looking for you. There are likely many weapons in need of _repair_ after tonight.”

As Damien turns to walk back up the beach, Calla mutters, “You’re not even convincing _yourself_ ,” but Damien does not turn around, and he is left standing alone in the sand, watching the ship carrying the woman they love over the horizon. As he watches the last of the ship disappear, Calla makes a decision. He will go after her, even if Damien won’t. 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile


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